The Company of the Scarlet Phoenix
by Syngen Segumi
Summary: Dhaunre thought that if you wanted to see the world, Waterdeep was a good place to start. But when money starts running thin, she has to take an embarassing job that will change her life forever.
1. We're All Going to Die

Dhaunre's brows raised in surprise, "You want me to what?"

"Sewer Jacking is an important job, Missy, and if you've not the backbone for it, there's plenty others that do," said the grungy old man at the table.

Oh how foul a thing was this? Did Waterdeep need patrolmen? Nope. Griffon Riders? Nope. Waiting tables at the Elfstone just didn't pay as well as she had hoped, and living in Waterdeep was expensive. So she had been directed here. The pay was supposed to be better, and the work might utilize her entirely too expensive training at the Arms College in Evereska. "How much does it pay again?"

"Ten gold a week. Plenty to keep you in good stead at an Inn until you figure out what you're doing with your life and your sword," he grinned at her. Privately he relished sticking an elf in the sewers. The entire situation promised lots of amusement and plenty of good tales told over warm ale at the House of Good Spirits.

She sighed, "I'll take it." It was technically not too much more embarrassing than playing at bar wench, and she was bound to be better at it. She had no head for remembering who had ordered what, and she kept bumping her head on the doorframe of the Elfstone. Plus, the beds were too small, and she was going to need new boots soon. There was no way she would be able to get out of having to pay the extra for them being custom fitted, her feet were too big.

"All right then. I'll see you at the House of Good Spirits at daybreak. You'll meet your team and get your route then. And I suggest you pick up a sword. That pig sticking polearm of yours isn't going to work well in the tunnels."

"Unfortunately, I'm short of coin to even buy a man made sword, let alone something I can actually use. Besides, this pig sticking polearm worked well enough as a Tomb Guard and on the Air Patrols in Evereska. I think it'll do just fine." Dhaunre tapped the leather sheath over the blade of the polearm that sat in two leather rings at her back.

"Suit yourself," the old man said, "But if you need a bit of an advance, you can get one after your first day of work. Once you've shown me you'll work, I'll make a bit of an allowance for you. If you're accommodations are too pricey, you can save a nib or two by stayin' at the House of Good Spirits. Just tell the innkeeper Jergenson sent ye."

"Thank you kindly, sir, I might just do that," Dhaunre nodded.

"And what was yer name again?"

"Dhaunre," she paused, trying to think of a good surname, since she'd no sooner sully her family's name with the knowledge that one of its daughters would be up to her waist in sewage, "Avariel."

"You happen to be able to able to spell that?"

"In Elven I can," she replied, "Never had to write it down in the common tongue."

He thought for a second and scribbled down "D-O-N-R-A-Y" in Thorass. She sighed, and thanked him again, before going off to find this House of Good Spirits.

The House of Good Spirits turned out to be in the southeastern end of the City, almost opposite from where she had been staying. The walk to the Elfstone would be a long one, and she would have to go through the Market Square; a prospect she dreaded with its loud noisy crowds and heavy population of cutpurses. Not that she had much of anything to offer them, but the few coins she had, she desperately needed.

It was a busy market day when she finally reached the square, and she tried to cut through as quickly as possible, ignoring vendors hawking wares she could ill afford. She rolled her eyes at a huge brawny man inviting all comers who could defeat him to join his adventuring company, and shouldered her way past a man on a crate hawking rebellion against the high tax rates in the city. The entire bleeding city was completely insane. It was such a change of the quiet bustle of Evereska, and the discipline she was accustomed to. Not that she was homesick at all. She missed not having to worry about where she would sleep or what she would eat. She missed her closet full of clothes. She missed having friends to go out drinking with. But, if she wanted to get her start, find her fortune, or just figure out what was going on in the world, this was the place to start.

She ducked into an alley as a shortcut back to the Elfstone, and brushed past a man who just looked to be of ill repute. Her hand went to the purse, covering it from any cutting attempts he may make at her meager fortunes, and she heard a crunch under her boot. The spindly legs of a large spider were stuck to the side of the sole of her boot. She made a face and scraped the spider guts off of her boot on a nearby broken crate before continuing. Outside of that, she made it back fine to the tavern and ducked into the door.

"Ow!" She had misjudged the width of the doorjamb and bumped her head, again. She stepped down into the main room rubbing her head with a sour look on her face. She was met by a near scowl from Ila, the barmaid on duty at the time.

"Keep it down," Ila hissed, "You're disturbing people."

Dhaunre made a face at her as she sat down, "Then make the doors taller." Ila was one of those entirely too pretty Moon Elves, platinum hair and beautiful blue eyes. Easily a foot shorter than a man and graceful and lovely and all the things Dhaunre just wasn't.

Ila frowned into Dhaunre's baleful green eyes, which held all the charm and verve of swamp gas in the light of the full moon, "Maybe we should just make you shorter."

Dhaunre shrugged, not inclined to argue that she was too tall. Her height had always been a problem for her. She topped out at just over 6 feet in height, which of course caused certain among the Council in Evereska to question her heritage. She was lanky and lean with a rangy gait. She looked like someone who had spent too much time at the Arms College, her shape lacked the supple grace of Ila's, it was hard and unyielding. Her hair hung loose to her knees, a grayish black of varying lengths, and a tousled frizzyness to it. Her eyes were luminously large and green, with black voids for pupils. But, unlike any poetry to most elves verdant gaze, hers was a cold green, with all the appeal and color of a disintegration ray. Her features were sharp and in profound relief. Her expressions always seemed a little exaggerated, she was striking rather than genuinely unattractive, and it would take a certain kind of man to see her as any kind of lovely.

That certain kind of man watched from his table near the tree trunk in the center of the common room. He had smiled into his cup when he heard the thud of her head hitting the door frame. To him, she seemed striking and powerful, if poorly dressed and lacking in manners. His mother would hate her.

"I hate to do this, but I told you I was looking for another job, and it doesn't pay much, so I'll have to move out," Dhaunre said, taking the cup of water from Ila.

Ila nodded, "So there was finally an opening in the City Guard?"

"Not exactly," Dhaunre said, "But I'm bound to be better at it than I am at this. It does involve violence, which if nothing else, you know I'm good at that."

"True," Ila said. She had given Dhaunre the job because she had stopped a fight from starting by tossing the offending parties out the door with brute strength. How was she to know that the girl had no head for numbers and the memory of a house cat?

"Well, listen, I appreciate your help. And tell you what. Dinner's on the house. I'll send someone up to pack your things. I might even wrangle you a carriage to take you to wherever your barracks are going to be," Ila was feeling generous, maybe a bit relieved.

"You're on," Dhaunre said, "But at least let me buy you a drink or five after your shift is done."

"Done? Since when have I ever waited for it to be done? Pass over your last silver, I'll drink with you now," Ila said with a smile. She drew another mug of Evermead from the tap, Dhaunre's preferred drink of choice, since it came from home.

Dhaunre dropped a silver piece onto the counter and then slapped her hand over it, "Hey, don't you owe me two of these? For work?"

"Not to pay for your carriage and porter," Ila grinned, slipping the coin out from under Dhaunre's fingers.

Several coins clattered onto the counter next to Dhaunre's hand, "This round's on me," said the man who had been watching them from the center of the common room. He sat down next to Dhaunre and smiled at Ila.

"Aye aye, Captain," said Ila, pouring him up a mug.

He scrutinized Dhaunre, "Air Guard, eh?" pointing to her tabard with the emblem of her company on it.

She nodded, "3rd Division, Greycloaks."

"Orcslayer then, eh?" he asked. He had a nice smile, and smelled like the sea. Not the harbor stench, the actual ocean.

She nodded again, "A few times. You?"

"No orcs lately," he said with a grin.

"No, I meant what do you do," Dhaunre muttered, not entirely comfortable under the scrutiny of another elf.

"I do what I please. Though currently that's working a ship from Evermeet to here."

She contained her contempt. She had no love for the island elves. The Retreat was a cowardly act in her mind, and not something agreed with. She had, so far, found most of Evermeet's populous to be arrogant and self-important, with little sense for the Tel Quessir as a whole. She managed to do not much else but nod, and pass a look to Ila, who was already waiting for her to let loose with her tirade of her opinion of Evermeet.

"Captain Valerian, How long will you be in port?" Ila asked, masking over Dhaunre's obvious disapproval.

"A week or so I suppose. Depending on the weather," he continued to smile, Dhaunre's dour look not even phasing him, "I look forward to getting back to Evermeet's waters though, they are so much more agreeable than the choppy seas around the mainland. I might stop off in the Moonshaes on the way back, play at privateer for a bit if I've not any passengers."

Dhaunre polished off the mug, "I hate to interrupt, But my shift starts at dawn. Me and the Lathanderites'll be up and about at the same time."

Ila smiled at her, trying to lift her mood, "You sure you want to leave so soon? The night is young and all?"

Dhaunre pursed her lips a bit, "I know I know, but I don't want to mess this up."

Ila nodded, "All right then. Can I trust you two alone while I go get the porter to get a carriage?"

Valerian grinned wickedly, "Absolutely not."

Dhaunre snorted, "Only if you don't notice when that handkeg of mead goes missing."

Valerian elbowed Dhaunre, "Mead? Please, she has some of those pricey bottles of wine back there. Much better resale value don't you think?"

So maybe he wasn't completely arrogant after all. She grinned back, "Yeah but lousy drinking. Too fruity for the likes of me. I like 'em sweet. Like honey."

Ila rolled her eyes and went through the door into the kitchen, brushing her hands on her apron as she went.

"Going on patrol in the morning?" Valerian asked.

Dhaunre nodded, "Something a little more in line with my overpriced education."

Valerian grinned, "Arms college, eh?"

"Third in the class," she said proudly.

Valerian said, "I know a few people from Evereska. What's your family?"

"Moonwing," she said, before she remembered what she was doing for a living.

"You're not N'thyd's little sister are you?"

Dhaunre looked surprised that someone in Waterdeep knew her brother, "I am. Though I'm a sight taller than him so little sister doesn't seem quite the right word."

Valerian chuckled at her, "N'thyd and I used to sit on the deck of the ship drinking and talking about women when he was coming back from Evermeet.  He loved talking about something called a water tavern in Everska, where everyone would bathe naked in a clear pool from a spring and the drinks floated around on trays.  Ever seen it?"

"Seen it?" she asked, "Hells, I spent most of my seventh year at the college there."

"Still there?" He asked

"Oh yes, and just as it's always been. Full of escaped students out on a bender."

He nodded at her Polearm, "Is that a Wing?"

She smiled proudly, "It is."

He whistled low, impressed, "Alentar didn't take just anybody to learn that thing. You must've caught his eye."

"I catch everyone's eye, if they crane their necks enough," she grumbled.

"So what changed your mind?  Why leave?"

"Wanted to see stuff," she mumbled.

"Me too," he said. "You have the Talon too? Or did you not get past the Wing?"

She was just a touch insulted as she unhooked the small, clawed shield from her belt and handed it to him.

Valerian nodded in approval, "Very nice. You worked hard for these."

"So have you always been on Evermeet?" she asked.

            "Born and raised," he said, "I wanted to go to Evereska's Arm's College.  I had hoped to be a bladedancer."

She nodded, "Yeah, I hoped to be a priestess, like my mother. No head for it though."

"Well it speaks volumes the training you finished at the Arms College. At least to me."

"Kind of you to think so," she said, "I've been feeling a bit wasted lately."

He shrugged, "You've been good company. Let me pay for your carriage and porter to your new barracks. I remember how hard it is starting out, and it would be a favor you would do for me," He said.

She shook her head, "I can't let you do that. I need to get my own feet under me, not find myself in debt to every soft-hearted pirate I meet."

"Privateer," he corrected, "You'd have no debt on your head, I promise you. Besides, you may not see me again anyways," he smiled.

"Really, it's too kind of you..." she began.

"If you don't accept," he interrupted, "I'll follow you about and ruin your reputation."

Dhaunre made a face at him, exaggerating her disbelief. "Well I would suppose I am powerless to stop you," she said, "Besides I can't have my reputation getting sullied, can I?"

She nodded, "We'll drink on it then." She raised her mug to him and took a swallow. He did the same and then knocked on the countertop.

"Ila!" he shouted, "Ilandria!"

Ila bustled out from the kitchen, "What do you want now?"

Valerian leaned over the counter, "This fine young student's carriage and porter go on my tab. So pay the girl her two silver, plus the extra one for the drinks and you can take it out of me."

"Take it out of your hide, maybe I will," Ila grumbled, but smiled, "You are too generous when you drink too much, Captain." But she counted off three silver and set them in front of Dhaunre. "The porter's got your things, and he's waiting with carriage whenever you're ready Dhaunre."

Dhaunre nodded, "then I should get going then," She smiled at Valerian, "It was nice meeting you."

Valerian half bowed from his seat, "The pleasure was mine."

Ila wiped down the bar, "Be sure to come back and see me for a drink now and again. And remember I still owe you dinner."

Dhaunre nodded, "Don't you think I'll be forgetting that."

She turned out the door and into the darkening street where a buggy sat behind a horse. The porter had loaded her bag up on the buggy and was sitting in the driver's seat. He turned to her when she settled into the buggy and asked, "Where to?"

"House of Good Spirits, if you please?" She replied.

He nodded and set the horse to a fast walk through town. The buggy stuck to the main streets, partly because it was the law, and partly from the porter's own sense of self-preservation.

He pulled up at a bawdy looking squat building that smelled distinctly of pipeweed and spilled zzar. It was noisy inside, but pleasantly boisterous, not noisy as if a bar fight were starting up. The porter turned back around to face her and asked, "Should I get your luggage, Miss, or are you just here for dinner?"

She smiled, "I'll get my luggage. You go on home or wherever you have a mind to go."

She hauled her bag off the back of the buggy and slung it over her shoulder. She ducked under the door out of instinct, but didn't bump her head. She turned back and saw that she had plenty of room and smiled to herself.

There was a roundish woman working the bar. Dhaunre sat down at the end and waited for her to finish hearing a joke from one of the patrons. A musician was singing in a corner of the low-slung room, and an even lower hanging cloud of pipeweed smoke cloyed to the ceiling. She let out a boisterous laugh at the punch line and made her way down to Dhaunre, pushing a lock of graying brown hair off of her forehead.

"What can I get ye?" she asked. Her apple face shone in the yellowish light.  She had a matronly look about her, but more the kind of matron who could hoist a young orc over her knee if the need arose.

"I'm Dhaunre," she said, "Jergenson said you might be able to help me with some accommodations?"

"You're a sewer jack are ye?" she asked, in a voice a little too loud for Dhaunre's comfort, "Aye, I can help ye out. Three gold will get you in the common room for a week. Five will get ye your own room and meals for the next week. The fare's not fancy, but it will fill you up."

Five gold would have her collecting five gold a week for expenses. That would be better than she was making at Elfstone, where she only had a handful of silver left over after her expenses. She nodded, "That'll do just fine."

"I'm Maril," the barkeep said, "Jergenson's my pitiable excuse for a husband," she grinned. "Good to have ye. Ye be an elf?"

She bit back the temptation to make a remark and nodded, "From Evereska."

"Ah, you're a fair piece from home, you are. Tell you what? Keep your coin for this week, and I'll just get it from what Jergenson would be payin' ye at the end of the week. Make things a spot easier on ye." She had a wonderful smile that lit up her whole face, glistening with sweat from the hard work she was doing.

Dhaunre smiled back, "That's kind of you. I won't forget the favor."

Maril nodded and reached under the counter. She handed Dhaunre a ring with two keys on it, "The big one's for the door, the little one for the footlocker. Upstairs, third door on the right. It's not big, but it's clean. And you'll get a hot bath each day. You'll need it." She laughed at her own joke. Dhaunre broadened her smile, privately worrying over what she had gotten herself into.

She lugged her bag up the stairs and counted the doors until the came to the third on the right. She unlocked the door and opened it into a tiny closet of a room with a bed and a footlocker and a small table with a pitcher and basin of fresh water. Well, it wasn't home. It wasn't even the Elfstone. But it would do all the same. She stripped out of her clothes, and dropped most of her things in the footlocker. The Wing and her Armor wouldn't fit, but that wasn't much of a concern, those would be with her during the day.

She poured the basin full of water and wiped off her face and body, enjoying the brief time she spent damp, and feeling a little cleaner. She climbed into the bed, and was happy to note that it wasn't too small before stretching out and letting her mind drift off into the reverie.

She broke out of her memories just before dawn. The sky was a lighter gray and the inn was quiet. She got dressed, pulling on her leather armor and buckling it into place. She dropped the tabard over the lot of it, and wiggled her toes in her boots to make sure they were fit properly. The soles were feeling thin. She checked them for holes, and scrunched up her face at the dried bits of bug guts from that huge spider she had stepped on the night before. Well, they'd be covered in worse before the day was out.

She went downstairs into the common room and there was Maril, bustling in and out of the kitchen. She banged open the door trying to hold two heavy buckets of water. Dhaunre, not thinking about much else than the water being spilt dashed over and took the buckets from Maril, "Here, let me help."

            "I'll not argue," Maril huffed, "Can ye lift them?"

            Dhaunre hefted the buckets, a familiar task to her, "I can.  Done more than my fair share of bucket hauling in my day."

            "Oh?" Maril said her tone teasing, "I thought elves just floated the water to wherever they needed it by magic."

            "Maybe the lazy ones," Dhaunre answered, "Some of us actually have to work for a living."

            "Oh we'll get on just fine," Maril said with a grin, "Can ye help me with a few other things?"

            The sun was almost fully up when Dhaunre finished the short list of chores Maril had given her.  She dashed out the back door of the Inn where a crowd of young people had already formed, and were clumped into groups.

            Jergenson huffed at her, "You're almost late."  He wasn't a tall man, but big in his own right, barrel chested, pot bellied and balding.  He had a hooked nose and a wide smile that belied his gruff voice.  His arms were thickly corded with old muscle that had seen years of work, and his rolled up sleeves showed more than a few pale scars. "Grab a stone from the barrel."

            "I'm sorry," Dhaunre apologized, and did as she was told, pulling out a fist-sized red stone and handing it to Jergenson.

            He nodded and pointed to a group near the stable, "That'll be your team over there."

            The group was two humans, a dwarf, and elf, at least at first glance.  She walked over to the group and introduced herself, assuming they all knew each other. "Morning to you.  I'm Dhaunre."

            "And a glorious morning to you, I'm Alek, I work at the House of the Morning." His face was positively cherubic, with bright eyes and a cheerful smile. His robes were plain and a pale yellow tied with red rope belt. "I'll be handling your faith and injury based duties.  These here are Wesley, Sharain and Thorkin."

            Wesley was a smallish man with a peculiar quickness to him.  He seemed both perfectly still and agitated at once.  His shirt was faded and graying, worn thin at the elbows.  His leather breeches were patched at the knees.  His fingers seemed to be in constant motion, and his mind looked to be constantly working a problem over and over.  He offered a smile to Dhaunre showing his smallish teeth.

            Thorkin was a site to behold, a small dwarven flurry of bright orange hair and iron spikes.  He had blue tattoos that coiled over his skin where it wasn't covered by armored spikes or hair.  He leaned on an axe that was almost too big for him, battered and nicked, and having seen well more than its fair share of fights.  Probably not too unlike its owner.

            Sharain looked the part of the Moon Elf.  Lean and handsome with a rogueish glint, his dark blue hair was tousled just so.  Blue eyes sparkled with mischief when he looked up from picking stones from the sole of his boot with a dagger.

            Jorgenson came up behind Alek and clapped him on the shoulder, "You lot'll be working the Southeast Quadrant.  Not a bad pace of a walk at all."  He tossed a pile of lethery looking cloth in the middle of them, "You'd best be getting your waders on, it gets pretty deep in there."

            "We're working together?" Wesley asked, looking around as if for the first time.

            "That you are," Jorgenson answered.

            Four pairs of eyes sized each other up slowly, taking in the possibilities, factoring in the variables.  When they spoke, it was a common thought, and sounded in unison:

            "We're all going to die."


	2. Shrank in the Wash

Dhaunre shrugged into the waders. They felt oily to her touch, but if they kept the foulness out of her armor, it would be a good thing. Getting a new suit of armor would be expensive.

"So which one of you is going to be in charge?" Jergenson asked.

The group of them looked at each other, with that ever-building void of confidence. Alek spoke up, "What exactly qualifies one of us to be in charge of the others?"

Thorkin grumbled, "Well, if the person in charge is the one who can beat the rest of the group in a fight, I guess that'd be me." His waders were much to long for him and bunched around his ankles, threatening to make him trip over himself. What with all the spikes, Dhaunre thought, that could either be very dangerous, or very funny.

"Which of ye can read a map the best?" Jergenson asked, trying not to look exasperated.

Dhaunre shrugged at the others, "Not me."

No one else spoke up to volunteer for the job. Jergenson, having had enough of the uncertain stares between the group thrust the papers into Sharain's hands, "You read the map. Stick to the main passages, don't go down side tunnels. If it moves, kill it and push it into the flow. Keep what you take, and if you find anything particularly strange, let me know when you resurface."

The five of them watched him lumber away, leaving them in that uncomfortable silence. Dhaunre took the opportunity to strap the talon in place on her left wrist and untie the sheath for the blade of the wing. She pulled the leather thong out of the lacings and tried to braid her hair out of the way.

"We should get started," Alex said, "Can you understand the map?"

Sharain was still looking at the map with an expression somewhere between horror and repulsion when Alek's voice snapped him back to the moment. He fumbled open the map and squinted at the winding tunnels drawn on the parchment, which had the same oily look as the waders they were all wearing. He nodded slowly, "Yeah, it's not as complicated as it looks."

Alek nodded, "All right then. Lead the way."

Dhaunre knew the braid was messy and crooked, but she didn't care, she curled the end up under itself to keep it from dragging in whatever disgusting muck they were about to descend into. She saw a wiry little fellow with a huge great sword strapped across his back and dragging the ground. The plain blue tunic of one of the other members of his team marked him as a priest of Tymora, the human goddess of luck. _Yep,_ she thought, _they'll need all the luck they can get_. The boy with the sword obviously hadn't had much training beyond learning that the pointy end goes into the monster.

Sharain pointed to a cover in the street, "This looks like where we start." He looked at everyone else expectantly, clearly having no intention of lifting the cover himself.

Thorkin shouldered his way up to the cover and hefted it open, "Ye bloody panty-waisted cowards. Let's get goin'. We don't have all day to be standin' around loafing in the middle of the streets."

Wesley looked around again before climbing down the hole, then Alek, then Dhaunre, then Sharain. Finally Thorkin dropped the cover closed, sealing them into the foul smelling catacombs. Dhaunre gagged instinctively, but the action only absorbed more of the foulness.

"Phew!" Wesley huffed, his face screwed up like one of the rotten tomatoes that floated past them. He began the workings of a spell, trying to freshen the air, but choked on the words.

"Feh!" Thorkin huffed, "If ye can't take it, climb back up and I'll be happy to take yer pay." Despite his bravado, the foulness affected him as clearly as it did everyone else.

"It smells like a dead Orc's arse in here," Dhaunre remarked.

"Something you have personal experience of?" Sharain asked.

"Oh shut up," Dhaunre grumbled.

"Oh, strong and quickwitted, I see," Sharain quipped. Agitating the other elf gave him something to do besides suffer the creeping stench that he was now sure he would never be free from, as Wesley vomited in middle of his fourth or fifth attempt to cast.

Dhaunre rolled her eyes, "Can you cast that spell or not?" She coughed and swallowed bile.

Wesley wiped his mouth and looked at her, "I can if you'll give me a chance."

She held up both hands, "Sorry, didn't mean to snipe at you."

Sharain looked at her as if he expected a similar apology, "You I meant to snipe at," she said.

"What did I do?" Sharain said, feigning innocence.

Wesley choked out the last bit of the spell and the air around them shifted, the stench retreating back into the brackish brown depths from which it had come.

Alek look relieved, if a light shade of green, "Thank you. Where are we supposed to be going?"

Wesley cast another spell that suffused the area with light, making it easier for everyone to see. Sharain opened the map again, "I think we go this way," he said pointing down the broad tunnel. The light gave a better, and somewhat horrific view of the tunnel they were in. The flow was a deep murky brown that sort of loped along in no particular hurry, showing off the chunks of things better left unnamed as they bobbed to the surface and were swallowed again. The sewers were largely designed to control the flow of water from storms, and when the snows melted in the spring. But, they also served to cart waste of any variety out of the city. Rotten food, dishwater, and other, fouler, more disgusting byproducts were all poured down the drains along the streets to take this slow churning vomitous journey out of the city.

"I say we stick to only tunnels with this nice walking ledge," Wesley said. The massive tunnel they were in had a five or so foot ledge on each side that looked maybe a foot or so above the water level.

"I agree," said Dhaunre, "Besides, Jergenson said to stick to the main tunnels anyways." She had no desire to wade around in that foul sludge any more than absolutely necessary.

The others nodded in agreement. "Down er, stream, then?" Sharain asked of the group.

The first hour or so was uneventful, just the constant slow churn of the flow. They followed it, diverting occasionally down main tunnels that looped back around to their main route. Sharain walked in front, leading the way by following the map.

It was the skittering shadow that set her on edge, Sharain had seen it too, and he had stopped on the balls of his feet. She wasn't sure if she heard it or saw it, but the tensing of the two of them brought the whole group to a halt. Dhaunre looked at Sharain, waiting to see if he could identify what was making the noise. It could have been rats, but they had heard plenty of those at this point and this was different. Heavier, slower, more deliberate, and certainly enough to set them both on edge.

Sharain pressed against the wall of the tunnel and moved to the side passage, peering carefully around the corner to avoid being seen. He held up four fingers behind his back so that he wouldn't give himself away, but the rest of the group could see that there were four of them. Whatever they were. Sharain crouched on the ledge, and slipped one of the knives out of his boot ready to throw.

Dhaunre dropped into a crouch, her grip on the polearm having the bottom spike leading, and the blade following. She held it behind her, the blade over and behind her head. Her free hand pressed into the floor, keeping her balance as she prepared to sprint in.

Just as she looked back up at Sharain to wait for him to signal them, a streak of orange and steel flew past her, knocking her into the wall of the tunnel, and a shrieking bellow rang down the tunnel. Dhaunre straightened in disbelief. Had the dwarf just jumped in there?

She looked back at Wesley and Alek, who shrugged at her. No dwarf back there. She looked ahead at Sharain, whose jaw was slack as he stared into the tunnel in shock. "Oh you have got to be kidding me. Is he out of his damned mind?" She didn't really need an answer to the question, she could only bolt in and try to keep him from getting killed.

She took off down the landing and turned the corner in time to see a pile of furry little arms and legs, dropped boxes, spikes and orange and blue and a fair spot of blood. Thorkin was just barely overwhelmed by three of the dirty little dog creatures. But he was thrashing about under the pile of them, the spikes on his armor ripping open wounds on the kobolds.

The three weren't her immediate concern, Dhaunre noted, her immediate concern was the six coming to help the three that were being thrashed to death. "Son of an orc!" she barked, sprinting to intercept the group of them.

Sprinting was more like splashing, but she collided with the first two kobolds at top speed. She led with the spike at the bottom of the wing, and spun away from her target, the blade following. She brought her left arm in line to block a blow from the kobold's pick. Rolling the wing over in her grip, she brought it down like an axe against the neck of the kobold, knocking him to the ground. She followed through the movement, slashing into the next one.

The next kobold was ready for what was coming and hopped backward just in time. Dhaunre overcompensated and stumbled forward, opening herself to the kick she took on the chin. She tried to blink away the stunning blow, and rolled over to get her feet back under her. "A little help up here!" She yelled, blocking a blow from an axe, and feeling the prick of a knife stab her in the leg. Two of them attacked her at once, the other three were making for the rest of the group. Thorkin was shaking off the last of the initial kobolds so that he could start anew on the fresh ones.

A streak of light sizzled past her right ear, almost blinding her and impacting with a pop into the chest of the kobold in front of her. She pushed against him, using her strength to shove the kobold further back off of her. She shouldered it back, scraping the Talon across where the magic missile had just impacted.

She brought the wing down along her side, making a strike for the second of the kobolds as another streak of light came in, and took the kobold in the side of the head. When it's head snapped to the side, the Wing whistled home, finishing the cut, and finishing the kobold.

Freed from her opponents, Dhaunre wheeled around to see what was left. She ran to help Thorkin with the last two Kobolds, but on the way, she slipped, on what she didn't want to know. Her feet shot out from under her and she landed on her chin with a crack and an "Oomph!" The pain shot right into her ear, causing her eyes to tear up. She pushed herself back onto her feet, a nasty scrape on her chin, her elbow feeling bruised, and the knife wound in her calf screaming for attention.

"You sick little piece of goblin dung," she growled through gritted teeth, and finished her charge with a vengeance. She took the wing in both hands, and swung it in an upward arc under the armpit of the kobold, skidding across its ribcage with a rattle that jarred her pain-stricken arm. She spun her grip and came back down, opening up another slash across its torso.

"Yer just takin' too damned long," Thorkin barked, punching the kobold through the head with one of his spiked gloves. "Damned elves always have to make a damned art of it."

Dhaunre's assault came to a halt, and she stared at the dwarf in mild disbelief. "I had it under control. It would have died"

Thorkin looked up at her, "Of what? Natural causes?"

Sharain snorted, trying to stifle his laugh, "Come on you two, how bad are you hurt? That was a nasty spill."

Dhaunre shook her head as Alek made his way up to check her chin and shoulder, "I don't think I'm going to die. Stings like all hell though."

Alek had a gentle touch, as he felt along her jaw for a break. She noticed he had mossy green eyes. One of those things you notice when someone's face is only inches away from your own. "She'll probably be okay. Just need to clean up and bandage to keep it from getting infected."

Wesley was rifling through the crates with Sharain, "Look what we have here. I think we interrupted something."

Dhaunre looked over Alek's shoulder, "What is it?"

Wesley put a slim locked box down on the remains of one of the crates. "Anybody have a key?"

Thorkin wiggled his fist, "I do."

Wesley put up his hand to stop him, "Something that won't destroy what's inside?"

Sharain shrugged, "I have an uncle that's a locksmith, I might be able to figure it out. He squatted in front of the chest and fidgeted with the lock.

Wesley pointed down at the floor near Dhaunre's foot, "You're bleeding all over the floor."

Alek looked up from where he was fishing out bandages and saw the dark little puddle, "Why didn't you say something?"

"Least of my hurts," Dhaunre said, "I didn't think about it. Sorry." She dropped the waders and sat down to unbuckle the greave that covered the lower half of her leg. It was grimy, and she didn't want to think of how foul she would smell when Wesley's spell wore off.

A click and a squeak heralded Sharain's success with the chest. Inside, on a bed of soft fabric, were six glass vials filled with a golden liquid. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, as if the whole thing would shatter.

"Potions," Wesley said quietly, "any labels on them?"

Sharain lifted one of the vials out and turned it around shaking his head, "Doesn't look like it."

"Labels would be convenient. We can't have that," Dhaunre growled as Alek tightened the bandage around her calf. "What else is there?"

Wesley rooted around through the three boxes, "A little money, a couple of hand kegs, and it looks like two more of those boxes wrapped to look like bolts of cloth." He pulled the boxes out of bundles of red fabric and set them down next to Sharain.

"Would it be okay with the rest of you if we sorted all of this out after we get topside?" Asked Wesley, "I don't know what all of this stuff is, and I think we should all get a fair share."

Dhaunre nodded, "Fine by me. Everyone else?" Alek nodded his agreement as he secured the last bandage under Dhaunre's chin, by tying it on top of her head. The white bandage tied around her head, giving her a pair of cloth bunny ears had the rest of the party trying to hide their snickers from her.

She scowled at the dwarf, "Oh stuff it."

Alek was trying to get everyone to quit laughing, "Not to rain on our parade, but I think we need to take her topside. That stab is pretty deep, and I still think she's dislocated her shoulder. We need to get in the fresh air so I can tell, and we can get her some more experienced help if she needs it.

"_She_ is right here," Dhaunre huffed. It was hard to look indignant with cloth bunny ears. But she gave it a good try. "I'm fine, I'll make it."

Alek scrutinized her, "If you say so."

Wesley looked around, "We probably need to get moving before whoever this stuff was supposed to go to decides to come looking for it. With one of our fighters gimped, we'd have a hard time of it at the least, at I'm running out of spells."

Dhaunre got to her feet after getting her armor and waders back into place. The group packed up their find, and moved out of the side tunnel back to the main passage, following the ledge.

When they reached the chamber that marked the end of their route, they climbed up to the surface. Looking filthy, beaten and exhausted, they headed back to the House of Good Spirits.

They checked in with Jergenson on the back side of the stables. He looked at the crew and tried hard not to laugh, "You lot're a sight! What the hells happened to ye?"

Alek spoke up, "We had a run in with some smugglers, I think. They gave us a pretty hard time."

Jergenson looked at Dhaunre, "Well, I'll give you credit, you look like you took the whole lot of em on yourself."

Thorkin was happy to correct him, "Nah, she just took a header down a sewer pipe and I had ta save 'er."

Alek pointed out, "She held her own, but that was a bad fall she took. How's that stab?"

Dhaunre shrugged, embarrassed by both Jergenson's amused look and Alek's compliment, "Hurts like hellfire, but it'll not kill me today."

Jergenson shook his head, "The lot of ye strip out and get washed up out here. You're covered in slop. Then you can come on in and have a bite of midday meal."

Dhaunre was glad to be out of her armor. She tried to get the leather thong out of her hair, but it was matted into place. She cut the thong, and found that the entire braid had been matted up with whatever goo she had gotten into. She scrubbed herself off in the outdoor tub, hoping that would help, but for all it was worth, the braid was stuck.

She stood on tiptoe to find that Alek was using the stall next to hers, "Psst! Alek. You have a knife over there?"

Alek looked up and covered himself with a gasp, "Er, I do. Everything okay?"

"Fine," She said, "I just need to cut this braid out. It's tangled too bad to recover."

"I can do it for you, maybe it won't come out too uneven," he said, fishing the knife out of his satchel.

"That'll do," she said, and wrapped herself in the drying cloth before coming around to his stall. She turned her back to him, "Just figure out where I can get it to fall out and cut it there if you would"

She turned her back to him, and he frowned, "What's this?" He touched a dark mark on the back of her shoulder, shaped kind of like a bird.

She shrugged, "Birthmark. Not all elves are perfect you know."

"It's going to wind up about here," he said touching her back between her shoulder blades, "That's a lot of hair I know."

"Just do it. I can't stand the idea of whatever may be caught in there," she answered. It took a good minute of sawing, but sure enough, Alek eventually cut the braid free, and held it out to her.

"There you go," he said with a nervous grin.

She crinkled her nose, "Oh that smells awful. I'll throw it away. Thank you."

"Um, you're welcome." He said.

Dhaunre finished her first bath and went into the House for her second, the one with hot water. It was already prepared for her, and she sunk into the steaming water with a grateful sigh.

One of the girls that worked in the inn came into the bathhouse, and smiled at Dhaunre politely, "Tough first day?"

Dhaunre nodded, "I've definitely had easier ones."

"Do you need me to help wash your hair or scrub your back?" She asked.

Dhaunre smiled at the prospect, "That would be so wonderful I could never repay the favor."

Once clean and dressed, Dhaunre made her way to the inn proper for dinner. It had taken almost half a day to get cleaned off. She would never admit such a thing to Ila, but she rather liked the noisy boisterous nature of the inn. She saw her team sitting together at a table and went to sit with them.

"Feeling better?" Wesley asked while buttering a roll.

Dhaunre nodded. The bath and clean clothes had improved her frame of mind immensely. "You?"

"A little stiff to be sure, but none the worse for the wear," he replied.

"Did you cut your hair?" Sharain asked.

She laughed at the obvious answer to that question, "Nope. It shrank in the wash."


	3. Fame and Fortune Yet to Be

Sharain offered her an approving grin, "You may not be as dense as you look."

Dinner was hot rolls and venison skewered and roasted over a fire. Dhaunre's mouth watered at smell of it, though it was heavily spiced and wouldn't normally have been much to her liking. It wasn't unlikely that the morning's hard work underground, and her afternoon spent trying not to look like she had been underground had helped her appetite along to the point where she mimicked Thorkin's action and snapped a roll up from the bowl.

Dhaunre grinned back, "Nope. Dumb as a tree stump. Ask any wizard that ever tried to teach me anything beyond basic concepts in magic and local history."

Wesley looked up, "You're a wizard?"

Dhaunre snorted, "Not likely. I was trying to take vows. I'm just…not cut out for it, I guess." She frowned, not liking the focus she was getting, "What about you? Why aren't you safe and happy in a lab somewhere learning new and interesting ways to blow yourself up?

Wesley swallowed, "Gets boring after a while. And expensive. I've thought about signing on with the Church, if for no other reason than to have someone pay my expenses. But I'm scared they'll just lock me up here and never let me do anything."

"Which Church?" Alek asked, interested in a religious discussion.

"Mystra's, of course," Wesley said, as if Alek had just asked what color grass was. "What about you?" he asked Dhaunre, What church tickled your fancy?"

Dhaunre shrugged, "Elven theology wouldn't interest you much, I'm sure."

"Hrmph," Thorkin grunted around a mouthful of meat, "Probably one of those gods that decides what time the flowers bloom."

Sharain poked Thorkin, "I'll remind you that it was Correllon Larethian that took Grumsh's eye; not Moradin the Soulforger."

Thorkin huffed, "Making the dwarves is complicated work, masterpieces take time."

Sharain retorted, "Obviously he's still trying." His grin showed he was teasing, but the remark earned a growl from Thorkin that made it clear he was treading ice.

Alek diverted the tension by looking at Dhaunre, "You were telling us about Elven theology and why we wouldn't be interested. We all seem to be thoroughly religious people in our own right; a little discussion among companions can't be a bad thing. Besides, if I don't think you have a direction, I'll be happy to guide you to Lathander's shining path."

Dhaunre smiled, "I wouldn't be too concerned. Like any of us, I honor all the Seldarine, though I suppose I identify most with Correllon, being the aspect of war and all. I think its fair to say I'm a fighter, not a lover." She chuckled at her own joke.

Thorkin scrutinized her, "Ye still take too long."

Dhaunre looked at him, "Well, I'm just not the skilled warrior that you are."

"Ye got that right," he grumbled, gnawing on a roll, "And don't ye be forgettin' it either."

Sharain grinned, "I doubt you'd let any of us forget it."

Wesley chortled, and waved his roll in Sharain's direction, as if pointing to him, "And you? Where do you hail from and whatever got you into a job like this?"

Sharain's eyes glinted as he prepared to tell a story, something he was a quiet master at. "As I sit and taste this humble fare, I think myself truly the fool for abandoning the unhindered beauty and magical spectacle of Evermeet. The air here has the tang of humanity, and is missing the crisp freshness off the mountains, or the sweet salty taste of the sea. Evermeet itself is a poem brought to life, a living breathing testament to the unity possible between elves and their world. How far short Waterdeep falls of that idyllic landscape. So why would I deign to descend to the realm of man when I have known only the poetry and beauty of Evermeet all my days? Because perfection, while a lovely thing, makes for a poor tale in the telling.

"And truly, in order to find my way as a musician and tale-teller, I must live in the world as it is, and let the world know me. Of course, the place to start any journey of this magnitude is in the bustling metropolis of Waterdeep. But alas, the work for musicians is thin and requires a certain reputation be established. With the work being thin, so too was my purse. And hence I was led to Jergenson and his band of merry sludge swillers to pad my purse and my repertoire."

The room had grown quieter with the musical lilt of his voice. His rhythmic cadence was well-practiced and designed to hold the attention of listener, no matter what he was saying. The expectant silence drew him to continue.

"Now surely Waterdeep is as full of marvels as any mortal could stand. It seems as the whole of the world meets in this one place to share the richness of their cultures, and, as I have heard only in the whispered rumors of shadowed tavern corners, there is as much Waterdeep above the ground as below. Above, the ever-present haunting scent of the sea, stilled the harbor, seems to permeate all things, adding a briny touch to the air and salty taste to every bite.

"But I often think the truth of things is found beneath the surface, the darker, danker aspects that one does not wish polite company to discover. Surely, the unwanted bits of Waterdeep that pass through her drainage system reveal the truth of the city? And I don't just mean the refuse you would expect, such as food gone bad, or other things much less palatable; I mean the living refuse. What has Waterdeep tried to wash away from itself, to keep the surface as lovely as possible? These peoples may well be the very best sources for character, their lives the stories I have been hoping to tell and never would have known about from the lofty shelter of lovely and perfect Evermeet."

His voice dropped off closing the poetic tale, and merited light applause from those tables close at hand. He smiled graciously and nodded his head in a sort of bow, before raising his tankard in an informal salute. Sharain looked over the rim of the Tankard as Jergenson sidled up to the table and sat down between Alek and Dhaunre.

"T'was a nice show there, Elf," he said amicably.

"Your compliment is an honor," Sharain replied, not showing he was offended in the slightest by being called "elf." After all, he could be called "lass" as Jergenson was wont to call Dhaunre.

"I don't suppose you lot could well remember where ye were when ye found those smugglers this morning, could ye?" Jergenson spread the oily map on the table, shoving the bowls of food out of the way, "This here is where ye were supposed to go in, and this here is where ye were supposed to come out. Assumin' ye did as told, where were ye seeing these smugglers ye were talking of?"

Sharin scrutinized the map, "Here." He pointed to the side tunnel where the conflict had taken place, "We found the kobolds here."

Jergenson looked at the map, leaning across the table, "That's an overflow tunnel. You see, here it follows this path, but on the map it seems to dead end. Overflow tunnels usually terminate in natural caverns or pits to take on the excess water from bad storms or heavy thaws. Not a shabby idea. The tunnels are largely dry and the caverns they end in can have plenty of nooks and crannies for hiding things. Of course, one flooding rainfall, and the whole thing is underwater, all the good ruined. What were they bringing in?"

Wesley piped up, "Magical potions of some sort. I haven't had time to analyze them yet or try to break them down into components. They had the boxes wrapped to look like bolts of cloth. Pretty clever if you ask me. Makes me curious as to who's behind it."

Dhaunre got up on her knees in the chair and peered over the bowl of venison skewers at the map. She pointed with the skewer in her hand, recently divested of its meat, at the tunnel they were talking about, "What alleyway is this under? Could the alleyway be used to moves the goods above and below ground?"

"Not likely," Jergenson said, "Overflow tunnels don't have openings to the streets above. They aren't needed. Besides, the system is designed so that all openings into the sewers are in major thoroughfares. It's hard to get in and out of them without being noticed."

"What about a basement?" Alek asked, "Since this tunnel is a bit higher than the normal sewer tunnels, would it be easier to gain access from a basement? Say, if someone were wiling to take the time to dig and reinforce a hole?"

"Not impossible," Jergenson said thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you lot would be up for checking that out would ye?"

"Do we look nuts?" Dhaunre asked.

"Of course we are," Wesley said at the same time.

Jergenson looked at the pair, "Aye, you do look nuts, which is why I asked ye. And yer friend here confirms yer insanity. So I'll be expecting a report from the lot of ye on the morrow then, after ye've had a chance to travel up the overflow pipe. Remember it's keep what ye take, and who knows what sort of riches could be hiding in there?"

Dhaunre glared at Wesley, "I'm just concerned that we don't know what we're going into and we could well wind up in way over our heads."

"Well," Jergenson said, "If ye don't surface, I'll send in two teams to come find ye."

Dhaunre sucked in a breath and looked at the others at her table, "When it comes down to it, I've not got much say. We just have to agree."

"Well, I'm in," said Wesley.

Sharain nodded, "Sounds like it could be a good story."

"I'm always up for bashin' criminals," Thorkin nodded.

Alek frowned at Dhaunre, trying to think of what to say, "While I agree that we could get into trouble, I think the reward outweighs the risk."

Dhaunre let out her breath, "Then I'm in."

Jergenson smiled, his teeth yellowed and a little crowded in his mouth, "Well then, Good on ye! Next round of drinks is on me, and You lot have a good night and good meal. I'll hear from ye in the mornin'." He pushed away from the table quite satisfied with himself, leaving Dhaunre that itching sensation of a lamb being led to the slaughter.

She looked around the table, "Well, then, at least we have a plan for in the morning. So what do we intend to do with the night?"

Thorkin looked almost thoughtful, "What say we drink ourselves into a stupor so maybe you'll forget your cowardice in the morning?"

Alek moved quick to cover, "Or dull our senses so maybe it doesn't smell as bad?"

"It's not cowardice, good dwarf," said Dhaunre, "More of a judicious sense of survival. I learned to fight to stay alive, not just to kill."

Thorkin nodded, again the thoughtful look almost approached, "Indeed, but ye take too long. Leaning on your longer lifespan to help you outlive your foe won't do much good for the blade in his hand then. Besides, ye keep fallin' all o'er yerself like that, you'll do yerself in long before they do, unless they die for laughin' at ye." He cheerily hoisted his tankard at her.

"Again," she said the wryness edging her tone, "I bow to the obviously superior skill present before me. Tell me Master Dwarf, how many years of training did it take to learn to thrash yourself about like that? Is there a particular method? Are you more favored to thrash right or left?"

He raised a bushy orange brow at her, "I think my method, though obviously not as artistic as yours, is by far more effective."

"On things you can get a hold of maybe," she countered, "When coming up against someone with similar training to mine, or even a wily caster, you won't be able to get close enough for the kill. Furthermore, I'm inclined to say that my costs for armoring myself are both more effective and more sanitary."

"War's not pretty, Princess," he grumbled, "Ye should get used to that."

"War may not be pretty," she countered, "But I certainly can be." She made an exaggerated movement to toss her hair off her shoulder, the jagged knife cut only adding to the comical effect. "See how the bruise on my chin sets off my eyes? The glisten of salve on my shoulder? Aren't I just desirable? Mayhap you need to envision my legs bare, but for the blood soaked bandages?"

"I'd need a lot more to drink to envision you lovely," Thorkin grinned over his tankard.

She nodded, visibly sobering, "I understand I'm a spot clean-shaven for your tastes. I regret that I cannot grow so lovely and lush a beard as yours."

He nodded, "So do I."

The entire conversation was punctuated with cautious laughter from Wesley and Sharain, while Alek watched quietly, hoping things wouldn't get out of hand. A barmaid brought over another round of tankards and these were passed around to ensure everyone had a fresh and full one.

Just before Dhaunre and Thorkin got started again, the room fell quiet to the tuning of a lute. A minstrel had taken the top of a table, tall and broad-shouldered, his sandy hair fell just so over his brow, and his blue eyes glittered in the flickering light of the lanterns. He keyed the lute again, just to make sure of it's tuning before raising his head and inhaling to begin.

"The Tavern Light!" Came the shout form the other side of the room. The outburst stopped the minstrel in his track and he turned his head laughing, "Well I don't normally take requests until I've at least warmed the crowd up. But you all seem to have gone and gotten warmed up without me. All right then. I am but a humble unworthy servant to a demanding public."

He started the chords on his lute, "Sing along if you know the words, and if you don't know them by the end of the song, then I need to drink more to catch up with you!"

_Tales told by tavern light_

_Make all the wrongs seem right_

_Life ne'er looks so pale_

_When seen through a glass of ale!_

The minstrel looked around the crowd and picked out a barmaid.

_Such a lovely lass was Mae_

_With a bosom full as bales of hay_

_And such a sweet round bum_

_It made you wish to smack her mum_

_For havin' one so unlike hers!_

The chorus came round again, giving him the chance to pick through the crowd to make up another verse.

_A quick and nimble boy was Timmy_

_Up the drain pipes he would shimmy_

_To hide behind the fresh-washed sheets_

_And view all the ladies' tasty treats_

_Good thing he learned to hold on one-handed!_

By the third go round, the entire tavern was singing along boisterously. His eyes fell across Dhaunre, and did a double take before starting.

_I met a lass from across the sea_

_Long and tall as a willow tree_

_'I am a lucky lass' said she_

_'to have three men to service me'_

_And a dwarf to tie my shoes for me!_

Dhaunre blushed horribly, and hid her face in her hands, hiding either her embarrassment or her laughter as the chorus started round again.

_This song could go through winter's snows_

_It could last through spring's stiff blows_

_The folk one wouldn't greet in the street_

_But whence they buy the round at the bar,_

_Friends for life they surely are_

_Tales told by tavern light_

_Make all the wrongs seem right_

_Life ne'er looks so pale_

_When seen through a glass of ale!_

He finished the song with a flourish, and winked at Dhaunre. She saw this through her fingers, which were still hiding her face. The men at her table looked into their tankards in what appeared to be deep thought, their own embarrassment hidden in the golden glow of the warm lanterns of the House of Good Spirits.

When she was able to look up at her dining companions, she only managed a smile and shook her head at them, "How silly was that? I'm sorry to have embarrassed you."

Alek brushed it off, ever the artist at maintaining an even keel in conversation, "But it's an honor to be noticed by Danilo Thann. He's quite the talent. Trained by your own people I understand it. Probably not that song in particular, but he has many very lovely songs in his repertoire."

Sharain laughed, "No, I imagine not quite that particular song. But he does know how to rouse a crowd. We should be honored that he noticed us."

"Fer the motley crew we are!" bellowed Thorkin. "How could we nay stand out to anyone, such a strange lot we are?"

Wesley grinned, "Then we're off to a stunning start. Fame and fortune, here we come!" He hoisted his tankard in a toast, and the others joined him. "To fame and fortune yet to be!"


End file.
